


Holy Ghost

by that_runneth



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_runneth/pseuds/that_runneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Full split personality breakdown. Rinzler 'watching' Clu torture Tron when they actually share the same body. Rinzler soothing Tron's furrowed brow and providing the hugs, whilst critically assassinating Tron's positive traits and pointing out all the ways that he's inferior to Rinzler. Rinzler rationalizing and convincing Tron that his faith in the Users is the real reason for the severity of Clu's assaults. And eventually convincing Tron that, as they're living in a Userless world, his only way of escape is to hand control of his processes over to Rinzler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Ghost

The first thing he registered as he was coming to his senses was the sound of the guard’s threatening, low growling above him. The guard was kneeling on his back, motionless – were they alone? Then, without opening his eyes, he sensed the presence of the other programs in the room, several other combatants of the Black Guard and… Clu. The anger that flooded him was so overwhelming that his eyes flung open and he tried to rise. The armored knee pushed harder against his back and his arms fell back to the floor.  He saw the black booted legs moving; for now nobody talked as if they were waiting for something.

  He closed his eyes. He had lost track of the events when Clu’s disc had struck him – he could not be sure what had happened since then, how much time had passed since the coup. The coup! Had the User gotten away? That was the most important question he needed to get an answer for. He had to get up; but before that he had to run a quick check for the damages in his system. Much to his surprise there was no physical injury – if he had been wounded during the fight with Clu, that had been healed. Yet, there was something, something more worrisome: there was some addition to his coding. The extra information must have been uploaded recently; his system had registered it as a threat and had quarantined it. He did not know what that coding was and he was safe from it for now. He looked up again. 

  “Did he…?” he started. Somebody stepped to him and bent down, examining.

  “Bring him,” he heard Clu’s order. He felt irritated: was not he worthy for a single response anymore? He was set on his feet abruptly, his arms twisted behind his back by two silent guards. There was no way to struggle in his hunched position as he was dragged away. He was analyzing the situation: the system error, the failed attempts to solve the problem. The User’s failure – his own failure, Clu’s rebellion. He got to the conclusion promptly: he was about to be derezzed.

  The other room was large, brightly lit. There were other programs around, red circuits on their black attires, their faces doughy, revolting. He did not remember seeing any of those before, though they had surely been there: it had been the User alone capable of creation. These ones were his programs too, though they had been appropriated for new purposes – the potential, the core of this scenario had always been there. When did they lose the balance, when did the events deteriorate this way? There was no time to ponder about that; there was something in the middle of the room, some sort of a stand and the sight of that gave him the chills. Torture was unknown on the Grid: there was a much quicker way to acquire information from a program and it was… illogical.

  “Why?” he asked. Clu stood before him and grabbed his chin.

  “It will help you make the right decisions, Tron,” said Clu. His face was unreadable. The system administrator’s other hand reached behind Tron’s back and removed his disc. Tron flung and kicked as he was hauled and tied to the rack. The straps were tight and solid around his wrists and ankles; the guards pulled back once all was secured. The lights above the rack were intense and he could not reach out to cover his face. He closed his eyes – he looked up again when he felt the gloved fingers touching his chest. His suit began to dissolve under Clu’s hand, revealing his glowing circuits. Tron was glaring at him with a steely glaze; the other program slid down his hand on the helpless body, ignoring the stare. Clu took a step back once the black material derezzed on Tron’s thighs as well. Two underlings came in a hurry and attached wires to Tron’s exposed circuits; he shuddered at the repulsive touches.

  This, he thought, this windowless chamber would be the last thing for him to see, and never the city again. These hostile programs would be watching him expire and not his friends, that would be derezzed or at large by then anyway. Should have the User gotten away, what would happen to the system under Clu’s reign? Clu, who had used to be a benignant guide of programs; yet now he imposed a brutal ending on his opposite – that did not make any sense. But now the programs stepped away from the rack and Tron knew that his time was over. He closed his eyes again. He would not scream, he thought. Then the wires that were connected to his body began to smolder and he wailed.

  The pain was so intense that it wiped out every coherent thought from his mind. There was nothing except for the agony, carefully portioned as it did not shut him down – it was the worst he could take without a system failure. His screams filled the room; that was the only sound there, that and the quiet buzz of that horrendous device. The other programs were watching his trashing impassively. Clu was examining a data pad, just occasionally glancing at Tron, as if he had not been bothered by the miserable screaming at all, as if he had been waiting for something to proceed.

  As the constant agony broke his self-control and inner restraint, he felt his memories, directives and stored files falling in one incomprehensive mass. His concerns for the User and his dream got played down; everything concentrated around the excruciating pain. The programs in the room were motionless and he could not pay them real attention, not amidst that torment – but then somebody began to move closer to him. Through the blur of his tears Tron looked at the program. It was one of Clu’s warriors in a black combat suit and with red circuits. His face was hidden behind his dark helmet and his circuits… his circuits were not settled as if he had been incomplete, under construction. The creature was odd and still, he was the only one in the chamber who appeared to be sympathetic toward the captive. He stopped next to the rack and looked down at Tron, somewhat regretfully.

  He closed his eyes and screamed again. Suddenly a hand touched his forehead; Tron glanced up and saw the unfamiliar creature leaning above him, resting his gloved palm against Tron’s hot skin. The pain eased, just enough so that he could stop screaming, for the first time since the procedure had started.

  “Why?” asked Tron the same question he had asked from Clu earlier. The program replied, but it felt like his voice was inside of Tron’s head.

  ‘So you can make the right decisions,’ he responded. Tron gaped and cried out again.

  “I don’t understand,” he whispered, when he could talk again. His limbs were trembling violently. There was something about this program that made him feel inconvenient – but his whole situation was way more than inconvenient; and this entity was the only one around that showed sympathy for him. That cool touch against his skin appeared to be relieving the pain and he just could not have been grateful enough for that.

  ‘What do you think, why is this happening to you?’ the question came in that voice again, that was familiar and strange at the same time. Tron’s body strained and his lips opened for another cry. The program above him bent ahead and slipped his arm under Tron’s shoulders. The agony eased even more and Tron was able to observe the other program now. The red circuits were squirming on the black suit; Tron had never seen anything like that before. The dark warrior trembled slightly – that was when Tron realized that he had not eased, but had taken over part of the suffering.

  “No,” he whispered. “It’s my due.”

  He prepared himself to the return of the misery. The dark helmet tilted.

  ‘It’s okay. Do you know why this is happening to you?’

  “Because I fight for the Users,” he replied proudly. He was unable to move: the straps held him down and the pain, manageable, but still significant was still there.

  ‘Yes. For being illogical enough to do that.’

  “What?” he asked, chafed. He looked at the other programs around; they did not show any surprise at the scene before them. “He created this world.”

  ‘He did, rightly,’ the stranger replied and pulled his arm back. Tron screamed. ‘But then he failed in every aspect of maintaining it, keeping it going. He admitted his failure, he admitted himself that his own world was more important for him. You knew that and still you refused the solution that Clu offered. You’ve been fighting for your User, whose actions and narrowness inevitably led to the destruction of our universe. And you still proudly fight for him, even though there is no program in the whole system that would do so.’

  “I… I…” Tron whispered, once he was able to speak again. The gloved hand was hot against his skin now.

  ‘But that can be fixed,’ stated the other program. ‘You can be fixed.’

  He placed his arm back, overtaking some of the pain again – this time Tron did not protest; he was grateful.

  ‘You have to do what he says,’ insisted the program, nodding toward Clu, who was looking at his data pad. ‘You need to forget the User and fight for your fellow programs. You have to give up some of your pride.’

  “…can’t,” he whispered. The dark helmet came closer to his face and Tron was wondering what was behind it.

  ‘Then you will never get away from here,’ replied the stranger. Tron closed his eyes. ‘Look at me.’

  He obeyed; he could not risk of being left alone again with that misery.

  ‘It’s not that hard, to be reasonable. Every program can do it. I can do it. It’s such a shame, that you are unable to be like that. You, who was praised as the best.’

  Tron looked away, at the ceiling above the intense lights.

  “I used to be the best.”

  ‘But there is no need of that sort of grandness in the system anymore. The system doesn’t need lonely heroes, who despise authority and don’t follow directions. It needs true servants that understand their role and ready to fight for the programs. Even against the Users.’

  “No,” said Tron. The other program chuckled.

  ‘No,’ his voice repeated it in Tron’s head. ‘That is why you are not the best anymore. That is why you are lying here, you and not anybody else. You provoked this treatment.’

  “Possibly…” he replied, exhausted. This was harder to take than the physical torture, this reasoning hurt him more than that; especially since the other program seemed to be right. What if he really failed, what if this was not his punishment but his chance to make it right? He looked back at the dark visor.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  ‘Please _what_?’ asked the stranger. The red circuits were moving on his suit quicker now as if he had been excited or if he had been closer to his completion.  

  “Help me…” his voice was more desperate than he wanted it to be. The stranger nodded.

  ‘I can help,’ he replied, teasingly. Tron groaned. He was so weak, his body did not even shake anymore from the power overloads that kept on striking his circuits repeatedly. ‘But first… do you admit that you have failed and you have to change in order to get a new opportunity?’

  “Yes,” he said promptly. At the same time the lights above faded and their intensity was not so tantalizing. The pain lessened, almost disappeared and the programs around them vanished too. “What happened? Where are they?”

  ‘Close enough,’ responded the stranger. His circuits were bright and now seemed to be about to find their places; it was disturbingly familiar. Tron could not really focus on that; he was tired. ‘I wonder if I will be as gracious as you used to be.’

   Tron glanced at him, confused that another program would tell something like that to him.

  “Sure,” he said. He suddenly realized that his restraints faded away too and the burning wires were not attached to his circuits anymore. He curled up on the smooth surface of the rack, still with those comforting arms around his body.

  ‘Maybe I could… Without your futile loyalties. Without those User-like oddities…’

  “Please,” whispered Tron. He gave in already – there was no need of those insults. He did not exactly comprehend the other program’s actions and statements, but he had saved him from the agony and that was enough.

  ‘Please,’ echoed the program. His fingers dug into Tron’s shoulder, who turned on his back. The other program rubbed his helmet against Tron’s neck, his hand slid up on his arm. This touch was different now. It was still comforting, but those fingers moved along the exposed, faint blue circuits deliberately. Tron was too worn-out to react, only his circuits started to pulse more distinctly. The silent program took one of his wrists in one hand and slowly traced along his arm with his other hand. Tron looked at him and reached for his helmet uncertainly.

  ‘Not yet,’ said the stranger. His fingers did not cease moving, they went down on Tron’s chest and his waist. Tron closed his eyes; he found it strange, how those simple answers to those simple questions saved him from the pain. He had been indeed wrong with all his doubts and misgivings; it was smarter to give in this time too, to let his savior do as he wished. The other program climbed on him, still caressing his anguished body; he was quiet now as if all had been said.  His hands were light and gentle, soothing after the brutal treatment. Tron wrapped his arms around his neck; the stranger’s armor was solid, just as his own had been before and the circuits had settled by now. Tron touched them airily.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ the answer came and Tron gasped as those fingers pressed against his skin. His eyelids closed once more; he heard the helmet retracting and right after hungry lips stuck to his throat and down on his chests. His fingers touched the stranger’s soft hair and he felt a tongue sliding along the circuits on his stomach. Easy it was, to give in simply, to let it happen and not to fight anymore in those gentle, yet very strong and insisting arms. He cried out, from the pleasure this time when the other program returned to him, mapping every single circuit on the way back to Tron’s chest and neck. Not until he kissed him on the lips did Tron admit even to himself that he had been waiting for that since his inner walls had collapsed. Those hands were heavy and solid on his waist, that mouth was demanding against his own – and his head fell back when teeth sank into his skin. His circuits threw a bright flash and his body went limp.

  The stranger’s head rested on his shoulder. Tron opened his eyes when he felt him stir to see his savior for the first time. It was not a surprise, not by then, when his eyes met with the features that had belonged to him, when he saw his own eyes staring down at him. Even the expression on the program’s face was his: not hostile, but knowing and determined – he had just done that needed to be done. The circuits on his suit were the exact copy of Tron’s energy lines, just in red color instead of that light blue. No, he was not a stranger: he was that addition to his coding that had gotten launched when the torture had broken his inner security. It was logical and just one more last proof that this new program and Clu were right, still Tron opened his lips to let out a betrayed scream. Nothing happened; he did not have own voice anymore and he could not yell at this program: they were one now.

  The buzzing stopped. The wires and the straps got removed; the program on the rack stayed motionless, his eyes closed. He was waiting to be evaluated and to be released; until then he was sorting out the information inside his own system. What once had been the most useful program on the Grid was going to be the greatest again, with the addition of his rationalism. Tron’s personality was not going to bother him later on. But as he was going through the piled up files he felt great surprise: he could see now that all that perfection, all that accuracy that now was his, was coming from that dangerous passion, that overwhelming affection that he was supposed to overwrite. He had taken over Tron’s functions, yet at the same time he had been infected by those hazardous emotions incorrigibly. He could not even do anything against it: they were one now.

  He opened his eyes.


End file.
